If the Glove Fits
by Onyx-Of-Octavia
Summary: TMR Cinderella au, and a bunch of sass
1. Chapter 1

Thomas had had it. He just wanted to escape his life, runaway and start fresh. His step-father would never allow it though. Lord Janson had married Thomas' late mother when Thomas was seven years old, bringing his two children into the family. A girl, Teresa, and a boy, Aris. At first the two older children just made fun of and picked on Thomas, but after his mother died a short two years later their mocking and teasing grew worse. Soon people forgot that Thomas was the son of a Nobleman, only seeing him as the man servant for Lord Janson and his children.

When Thomas was sixteen Janson hired the first paid help in seven years, a stable boy called Minho. Minho was a few years older than Thomas but that didn't stop the two from becoming fast friends. Minho was the only one who Thomas could vent his frustrations to, because he understood what Thomas dealt with from his step family. The Asian man was always there when Thomas needed to escape the incessant yelling for him to clean this or get that. Minho was the only one who knew who Thomas truly was, a kind-hearted, gentle, idiot who was afraid of disappointing everyone.

Nothing incredibly interesting happened to the dysfunctional family until Thomas' 19th birthday. The day had started out like any other, Thomas woke up with the sun, prepared breakfast for everyone, fed the animals, and started on his daily cleaning. Things went as usual until lunch.

"So Thomas, big day today isn't it?" Lord Janson smirked. That smirk always sent chills down Thomas' spine, the way his step-father leered at him, a wicked glint in his eyes.

"I don't know what you're talking about, sir," Thomas kept his head down, he didn't want to believe that his step-father might have actually remembered his birthday, he hadn't remembered the past ten years, so why now?

"Oh I'm sure you do Thomas, it's your birthday after all, so Teresa and Aris put together a very special present for you, why don't you go up to your room and see what it is," Lord Janson said, that sickly sweet and deceptively kind tone layered over rueful hatred for the young man before him. Thomas wasn't sure if he should trust his step-father, but fear of punishment from disobeying lead him to his room. He didn't know what to expect, nothing good that was for sure, but his room just not being there was not on his list. Instead of his single bed and two drawer dresser there were multiple piles of clothing scattered throughout and in the middle of the small room stood a large full length mirror that Teresa was admiring herself in. Aris was sprawled out on a hideous orange chaise lounge smirking at Thomas' dumb-struck expression.

"Where, what, what did you do to my bedroom?" Thomas managed to say after the shock had receded from his face.

"Oh good you're here, could you please do something about that," Teresa said, pointing to the pile of Thomas' things that had been haphazardly tossed into the corner.

"What did you do to my room? Where is my bed?" Thomas asked again, this time with more bite to his words.

"Well you see, my closet was just too small, I didn't have any room for my new dresses. So I decided your room would make a good walk-in closet, and I was right. So we moved your things to the attic, your new room," Teresa explained like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Thomas should have been furious about what his step-siblings had done, but he wasn't, he wasn't even surprised. There was no point fighting them, they would always win and Thomas would always be seen as their manservant. Thomas sighed, picking up his pitiful assortment of things he left to the attic without any further interaction with his "family".

The plus side about moving to the attic was that it was actually larger than his previous room. That was the only positive about the attic, there was no viable way to heat the room, and the one dingy window wouldn't open to let a cool summer breeze in. Dust coated once white sheets in thick layers. What little light managed to peek through the grimy glass only accentuated the musky, stale air with it's dancing dust particles. The only clean surfaces were Thomas' bed and dresser, the only pieces of furniture he could call his own.

"If this is where I am to live from now on so be it. But I refuse to live in this filth, I've got a lot of cleaning ahead of me," Thomas said to himself with a resigned sigh.

The rest of the afternoon was spent dusting, sweeping, reorganizing, and scrubbing away years of dirt and grime. The brunette would've cleaned far into the night, but he still had to prepare dinner and gather the laundry from the day. Then after dinner was finished and the dishes cleaned and put in their rightful places he would have to assist Minho with feeding and tending to the animals, water the garden, and finally prepare and serve everyone's nightly tea. The only part of the evening Thomas could look forward to was helping with the animals, and that was only because he could vent his woes to Minho, his only friend. But first he had to et dinner ready.

To say that dinner was an awkward situation would have been like saying the black plague was nothing more than a common cold. Thomas could feel the malicious eyes on him as he served the roast and vegetables, but he refused to acknowledge them. He was able to tune out the snide remarks and rude gestures throughout the course of the meal, that was until he brought out dessert, a carefully crafted raspberry tart.

"Thomas," Lord Janson started, poorly disguised bitterness cutting the air, "Why don't you join us for dessert?"

"No thank you sir, I would hate to intrude, and I should be getting back to my chores," Thomas answered, he didn't trust his step-father to not have ulterior motives for the request.

"Nonsense, it's your birthday after all,"

Thomas knew he wasn't going to get out of it that easily and slowly slid into a seat at the far end of the table, closest to the kitchen door for when he needed a fast escape.

"So how are you settling into your new room?" Lord Janson asked.

"It's fine, just needed a bit of cleaning,"

"Good, good. We wouldn't want you to feel uncomfortable in your own home now would we?"

"I'm sorry, but did you want something from me? Because if not I really must get back to work," Thomas quipped, not enjoying the conversation one bit. All he wanted to do was run, far and not look back. Just keep running until this life was nothing but a whisper of a memory deep in the subconscious of his mind. As much as Thomas wished he could do just that he knew he wouldn't get far before his step-father sent someone after him.

"Fine, return to your chores boy, and don't forget the scotch when you bring me my tea tonight,"

"Yes sir," Thomas was halfway out the door as he replied. The dishes could wait until he got back from helping Minho, Thomas told himself as he ran out to the stables.

"Thomas!" Minho exclaimed when young man burst into the stables, "You're early,"

"Yeah, sorry, I just needed to get out of there," Thomas answered, dropping ungracefully onto the small wooden stool Minho used when milking.

"What did they do this time?" Minho was fully aware of how Thomas' step-family treated him and he hated it. That was why he never turned the boy away when he came running to the stables in search of an escape. No matter how busy Minho was he always made time for Thomas, because the brunette was too kind for his own good and deserved to have someone who was on his side.

"Teresa decided her closet was too small and that my bedroom would be a better one, so now I'm living in the attic,"

Minho walked over to where Thomas sat and gave him an apologetic look while squeezing his should in comfort, "You want to go for a ride? It is your birthday, you should do at least one fun thing for yourself today. I'll cover for you in case Rat Man comes looking for you, take Rhonan and go escape for a while,"

"Thanks Minho, I owe you one," Thomas said with a weak smile. Riding always made him feel better, but he to be careful that his step-father didn't find out. If Lord Janson found out Thomas was out riding Thomas would never see the light of day again. Thomas loved riding when he was younger, his mother would take him out every chance she got. But when she fell ill and couldn't take him out anymore Thomas promised her that he wouldn't give up his love just because he couldn't share it with her. After she passed Lord Janson had banned Thomas from riding, the horses were to valuable to let a dimwitted boy like Thomas near them, or at least that's what he was told. Thomas never did stop riding, he was just more careful about when he did so. It became a lot easier to sneak out for a ride when Minho was hired because the Asian man would cover for Thomas.

"Not this time, like I said, it's your birthday, go have some fun, just don't stay out too long," Minho said as he finished preparing Rhonan. Thomas grinned at his friend, took the reins, mounted the black, Arabian stallion and took off into the surrounding forest.

Thomas loved the forest. Wind slid over his face in a race against itself to graze the pale, mole dotted skin. The subtle light of the twilight poked it's way through the ever shifting leaves. Rich scents of a nearby meadow collided with the deep, earthy musk of rotting leaves on the forest floor, fusing to create an altogether new, unique scent. Here Thomas could be himself, not a slave to his step-family. These trees had seen him grow into the strong, kind, young man he was. Thomas loved the forest, no one ever ventured out this far from the kingdom so he never had to worry about awkward conversations with random strangers. Or so he thought. He slowed to a trot as he came upon the small clearing he would would frequent to clear his head. The normally silent sounds of the night were overshadowed by two unknown voices coming from the clearing Thomas was approaching.

"Newt, what do you think you're doing out here?" a deep voice asked.

"I just needed to get away for a little while," a softer voice answered, the words drifting over Thomas like a fresh spoonful of honey drizzling over crisp toast. "I'll head home soon, you don't have to stay out here with me Sig,"

"You know I can't do that Newt, your father would kill me if I left you unattended in the middle of a forest," the deep voice retorted. As Thomas listened to the two men banter back and forth he quietly dismounted Rhonan and crept closer to the edge of the clearing, hoping to catch a glimpse of who was invading his forest. Slinking up to a large oak Thomas cautiously peered around to rough trunk. Apparently he had leaned over too much and thusly found himself face planting in dew coated grass.

"Are you okay?" the same angelic voice asked. Thomas' eyes fluttered open.

"Am I dead? Because you definitely look like an angel," Thomas said before he could stop himself. The man above him had sparkling amber eyes and a golden halo of blonde locks. The man's sharp angles were perfectly contrasted to the gentle gaze he was directing at Thomas.

"I would hope you're not dead after simply falling face first to the ground," the blonde chuckled. He stood from his crouched position and offered his hand to Thomas. Thomas blushed a brilliant shade of red as he was helped off the forest floor.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to intrude on your conversation, I was just curious as to who was in my clearing," Thomas said with a nervous laugh.

"Your clearing?"

"Uh, yeah, I've been coming here ever since I can remember. My home isn't far from here and when I was young my mother brought me here and told me this was where I could go if I ever needed to escape,"

"I see, and what is your name? I feel I should the name of the owner of this clearing I so rudely barged into," the level of sass in the question hit Thomas harder than Aris' cologne.

"Thomas," was the quiet reply.

"Well Thomas, I'm Newt. I didn't actually know about this place until today, didn't mean to intrude, really," Newt said.

"It's okay. I'm sorry for quite literally crashing in," Thomas kept his eyes glued on the ground. There was something about the well dressed man standing beside him that unsettled Thomas in ways he couldn't explain. Newt, on the other hand, couldn't seem to take his eyes off of Thomas. He didn't realize who Newt really was, and it was a relief to not have someone falling over themselves just because of his status. Newt found Thomas to be quite interesting, and certainly attractive, not that he would tell the boy just yet. No what Newt wanted was to know more about Thomas, wanted to show him the world, wanted to kiss those apple red lips Thomas kept nibbling on.

"Newt we need to get back before your father sends out a search party," the dark skinned man, who had remained on his horse the whole time, said.

"Right, be right there Sig," Newt called in reply. He turned back to Thomas, "It was nice meeting you Tommy, I hope we will meet again soon," and with that Newt was gone, riding off towards the kingdom.


	2. Chapter 2

"Newt you haven't shut up about the boy since you met him, please give my ears a rest," Siggy, Newt's steward, pleaded as the prince raved, once again, about Thomas' stunning brown eyes.

"Sorry Sig, it's just, he's so," Newt trailed off lost in thought.

"So perfect?" Siggy finished.

"Yes, so bloody perfect,"

"You got it bad my friend. What's your father going to say when you tell him you're in love with a commoner? Not that there's anything wrong with that, but you know how your father can be,"

"Fuck! Father! I was supposed to meet with him to discuss the ball he's throwing for my birthday," Newt panics as he rushes out of the room. He could hear Siggy laughing somewhere in the distance, but he's already late.

"Sorry I'm late father," Newt gasped out, bursting into his father's study.

"Ah, there you are Newton, you're late," the king reprimanded.

"I know, I'm sorry, I was talking with Sig," Newt explained as he took a seat across from his father's desk. The king hummed in acceptance and returned to his seat behind the large mahogany desk.

"Do you know what this meeting is about Newton?"

"The ball you're throwing for my birthday?"

"Correct. You're turning twenty-one in one week, it's time you think about finding a spouse, someone to rule with you when I'm gone," The king stated.

"A spouse? Father, you can't be serious?"

"I have never been more serious son. Now I know you don't quite enjoy the company of the ladies here in the palace, and that's fine, but that doesn't mean you can avoid marriage,"

"Father, what if I told you I met someone?" Newt asked, nervous as to where this could lead.

"That farm boy you have been raving to your steward about? Yes I heard about that, and do you really think a commoner is fit to be your spouse, to help you rule a country? You need someone who can help you with the diplomatic decisions you're going to have to make. Someone who knows how to act in the presence of other nobles, who has been trained in proper etiquette. How do expect some common farm boy to be able to advise you properly?" The king argued.

"Father, you haven't even met him! For all you know he could be the son of a bloody lord!" Newt rebutted.

"I'm not discussing this any further Newton, you will choose a spouse the night of the ball and it will be a noble," the king left no room for argument, slamming his hand down on the desk as he said his part.

"Fine father, but as it is MY birthday, I have one request,"

"And that is?"

"We invite every eligible bachelor and maiden in the land, no matter what their status may be. It's my birthday, and if I am to rule this land I should get to know the people I will be ruling over,"

"Fine, but you are still to choose a noble," King Isaacs conceded.

"Also, I would like it to be a masquerade ball," Newt added off handedly as he exited his father's office.

Two days after Thomas had his run-in with the gorgeous blonde man, Newt, a messenger from the palace showed up at his door.

"Um, hello?" Thomas said so eloquently.

"How many eligible sirs and or maidens reside in this household?" the messenger inquired, ignoring Thomas' utter confusion.

"Huh?"

"How many sirs and or maidens reside here are of an appropriate age to wed?" the messenger asked once more.

"Uhh… three?" Thomas answered. The messenger nodded and handed Thomas three envelopes and left without another word. Thomas stood there, envelopes in hand, staring slack-jawed at where the palace messenger had just been, his brain still at the point where it was processing what had just happened. Finally he looked down at what he had been handed. They looked like invitations. Not wanting to miss the chance to go to the palace, even if just for a night to escape his family, Thomas slipped one of the invitations under his shirt where his step-father wouldn't find it.

"Who was that?" Aris asked when Thomas returned to the parlor.

"A messenger from the palace, he left these," Thomas said, tossing the invitations onto the coffee table.

"From the palace?" Teresa squealed, tearing the light blue paper open.

"What does it say sweetheart?" Lord Janson asked, looking up from his paper work.

"We've been invited to the ball!" Teresa shrieked and Thomas was certain that the crack in her teacup hadn't been there a minute ago, "It says that all eligible maidens and bachelors, old enough to wed but not over thirty years of age, are invited to attend a masquerade ball in celebration of the prince's twenty-first birthday,"

"It also says that the prince will be choosing a spouse the night of the ball," Aris said, reading his own invitation.

"This is the best news I've heard in quite some time. With any luck one of my two darling children will be the one to capture the prince's heart and restore this family back to rightful place among the nobility," Lord Janson said, "Thomas go into town and get that Sonya girl to make a gown and suit worthy of catching the prince's eye! Now! And don't dawdle about, you still have much to do around here,"

"Yes sir," Thomas replied, already half way to the door. He took up a casual stroll along the horse beaten path to the village, enjoying the light summer breeze drifting in through the trees. A content smile flitted across his face, the thought of seeing Newt again kept his thoughts positive. The blonde had been plaguing Thomas' every waking thought, and even a few of his sleeping ones. Though there was that small voice in the back of his head reminding him that his step-father would never let him go. Lord Janson would stop at nothing to make Thomas' life miserable, and if he found out that Thomas had also received an invitation to the ball he would do everything in his earthly power to prevent Thomas from going. Thomas let out a breath of dejection as he opened the door to the cozy workshop of the local seamstress.

"Good afternoon Thomas," Sonya greeted merrily.

"Good afternoon Sonya," Thomas replied, lacking his normal cheerful disposition.

"I assume you are here to ask me to make clothes for Teresa and Aris? For the ball?"

"You'd be right in your assumption. Lord Janson said the gown and suit needed to be 'worthy of catching the prince's eye' or something like that," Thomas responded to the petite blonde.

"I'll do my best," she laughed, "Why aren't you getting a suit Thomas? I thought _all_ eligible bachelors and maidens were invited?"

"You know Lord Janson would never let me go," Thomas said, a frown tugging at the corners of his lips, "I need to go. I'll be back to pick up the clothes in a few days,"

"Alright Thomas. Don't let them get you down, you deserve better and someday you'll get it," Sonya said. She regarded Thomas as a precious flower that was waiting for the right moment to bloom and wanted nothing more to help him bloom into the kind, young man she knew he was.

The day of the ball had arrived and Thomas was rushing off to Sonya's to pick up the garments for his step-siblings.

"There you are Thomas," Sonya greeted when he stepped into her shop.

"Sorry, I meant to stop by yesterday and get the clothes but I never had any time. I'm so sorry," Thomas gasped out.

"It's fine Thomas, it's really fine," Sonya said.

"Are you sure? I know you must have a lot to do and with me not picking up the clothes like I said-" Thomas ranted.

"I told you it's fine. Now take the garments, and go get ready for the ball," Sonya cut him off, handed him three garment bags, and pushed him out the door.

"Wait, Sonya, there's three bags here, I only asked for two pieces,"

"I know that. Don't let Rat-man find out," she answered before shutting the door behind him. He looked over the bags, finding the last one had his name on it. What was Sonya thinking, Lord Janson would never pay for this, let alone allow Thomas the chance to wear it. But maybe he could find a way.

Thomas spent the rest of the day helping Teresa and Aris get ready for the ball, he finished with barely enough time to prepare himself. He had a vague plan of how he was going to sneak away to the ball, but it rested heavily on luck, something Thomas didn't have a lot of. The heather grey suit Sonya had made for him fit perfectly, and the simple white mask he found while cleaning the attic didn't look out of place with the ensemble.

When he thought the coast was clear, Thomas crept down from the attic, hoping to sneak out through the kitchen and meet Minho at the stables. Everything had gone smoothly so it was just a matter of time before Thomas' luck ran out. And that it did. As Thomas was descending the last few steps his step-family entered the foyer.

"My, my Thomas don't you look all gussied up?" Lord Janson sneered.

"What are you all dressed up for? You're not thinking about going to the ball are you? You didn't even get an invitation," Teresa scoffed.

"Umm, actually I did," Thomas whispered more to the floor than the other occupants of the room.

"I find that highly unlikely," Aris quipped. Thomas couldn't help but notice how his step-brother's salmon toned suit clashed yet also some how complimented Teresa's celery green gown.

"The invitations were sent to every eligible maiden and bachelor in the kingdom. So I thought,"

"You thought what? That you would have time to attend the ball when there's so much for you to do here?" Lord Janson asked.

"And in that? It's practically falling apart," Teresa barked as she tore one of Thomas' sleeves from his jacket.

"I mean, honestly, how could you even think to show yourself in public in those rags?" Aris asked as he 'accidentally' spilled his glass of wine on Thomas' white shirt.

"Thomas, it's for the best, for everyone, if you just stay here and finish your chores," Lord Janson said, ripping the mask off and shattering it on the wood floor, "Come now children, the prince is waiting,"

Thomas was left standing on last step, suit in tatters, and absolutely heart-broken by the cruelty of his step-family. He tried to stop the tears that were already welling up in the corners of his eyes, but nothing could stop the flood once it started. He ran out to the garden, the calm of the evening a welcome embrace. Not long after Minho found Thomas curled up by the fountain.

"Thomas? What happened?" Minho asked as he situated himself next to the brunette.

"My family. They ruin everything," Thomas said, his voice shaking from the crying.

"I'm sorry, I know you were looking forward to possibly seeing Newt again," Minho said, rubbing gentle circles on the younger man's back.

"And if you want to see him again you need to pull yourself together, and fast," a deep, richly accented voice spoke up from behind Thomas and Minho.

"Who are you?" Minho asked. The man in question appeared to be around fifty years of age, his skin a dark shade of caramel, his eyes mirthful while also caring and concerned. The stark white suit the man wore seemed unnaturally clean, and the way he leaned on a matching cane, it was all just too odd.

"I'm just a concerned citizen who felt the overwhelming urge to help this poor boy in his time of need," The mystery man said.

"Uh-huh, I'm sure you are, now why don't you tell us who you really are," Minho retorted.

"I think Thomas has already figured out who I am, haven't you Thomas?"

"Uhh… No. How do you know who I am?" Thomas asked, confusion evident in his words.

"Really Thomas, I thought you would know by now, didn't you ever listen to the stories your mother used to tell you?" the man queried.

"Huh?"

"Oh boy. You always were a little slow weren't you? I'm your fairy godmother!" the man exclaimed.

"Fairy godmother? But you're a man?" Minho said slowly, seriously questioning the mental state of the man before him.

"Good to know you have eyes, I guess fairy godfather would be a more apropos term, or you could just call me Jorge,"

"Fairy godfather? Did my step-father put you up to this? Because that's low, even for him," Thomas said.

"Your step-father? That rat faced man who left with those two spoiled brats? Oh honey, you could give me all the riches in the world and I still wouldn't even lift a finger for people like him," the level of sass in that statement caused Thomas to snort in laughter.

"Well if you are my fairy godfather why are you here?" Thomas asked.

"I'm here because you are supposed to be at that ball. Aren't you curious as to why the prince would invite _all_ eligible maidens and bachelors to celebrate his birthday with him? Now get up, you're not doing yourself any favors staying curled up in the dirt,"

Thomas stood, Minho following right behind him. The stable hand was very protective of Thomas and he didn't trust this Jorge person as far as Thomas could throw him.

"So, let's see, you're going to need a carriage,"

"Tough luck there, Rat-man took the only one we have," Minho said, maybe a tad too hostile.

"That does put a damper on things, or it would if I didn't have this," Jorge twirled his walking stick with practiced ease, a sarcastic smirk plastered on his face.

"And what is that going to do? Thomas is better off having me carry him to the ball,"

"You are a very small-minded individual aren't you? Haven't you ever heard of a little thing called magic?"

"Magic? You mean the thing that doesn't exist? The thing parents tell their kids about in bedtime stories?" Minho sassed.

"Exactly that,"

"So you're telling me you're going to use magic to get little Tomboy here to the ball? Yeah, right, prove it,"

"Gladly, if it will shut you up," Jorge said twirling his cane and pointing it at the stable hand, "I'd put him in some water if you don't want him to die,"

Where Minho once stood was a tiny, flopping minnow. Thomas, in a panic, grabbed to flailing minnow and threw it into the fountain, forgetting that there was no water running to the fountain anymore. Jorge gave Thomas an exasperated look and returned the Asian to his original form before he actually did die because Thomas was oblivious.

"You were saying?" Jorge asked.

"You- I was a- You turned me into- Thomas you nearly killed me!" Minho ranted.

"Sorry, I panicked, I forgot the fountain doesn't work," Thomas said, rubbing the back of his neck.

"No time for apologies, we need to get Thomas to the ball, now do you have any round vegetables?" Jorge cut in.

"Round vegetables? Umm, I think we have onions,"

"That'll work, you," Jorge pointed to Minho, "Go find the largest onion you can and bring it here,"

"Why me?" Minho whined, he hated onions and did not want to go near them.

"You want to be a fish again?"

Minho was gone, and back with a reasonably sized onion in a matter of seconds. Jorge smirked at him then turned his focus to the onion.

"I'd stand back if I were you, magic isn't always predicable," Jorge warned.

Thomas and Minho took cover behind the garden wall, peeking over to watch the strange man work his magic. With a flick of his cane the onion began to grow, expanding at an alarming rate.

"Well this is new," Jorge said as he slowly backed away from the now glowing vegetable. Thomas and Minho shared a worried look and steadied themselves behind the flimsy rock wall. They stayed crouched down until an ear-piercing bang resounded from where the onion once sat. In it's place now stood a lavish, but not overly so, white carriage.

"What's next? Hmm, ah, yes, a coachman," Jorge said more to himself than Thomas and Minho.

"Where are you going to find a coachman at this time?" Minho asked.

"Right here," Jorge said, once again subjecting the Asian to his magic. Minho was now dressed in a full suit worthy of any nobleman's staff.

"And just how do expect me to drive this thing? There are no horses to pull it," Minho snapped.

"Horses would be useful wouldn't they?" Jorge mused. And soon enough a group of four field mice were replaced with four white horses.

"I think that should be good, quickly now Thomas we need to get you to that ball," Jorge said as he pushed Thomas towards the carriage.

"But my suit," Thomas said softly, "I can't show up to a ball in this,"

"You're right, that suit is terrible, the color is totally wrong for you and you don't even have a mask," Jorge observed.

"Gee thanks for the vote of confidence," Thomas sighed.

"Not to worry, magic has an answer for everything, or most everything, there are always a few contingencies," Jorge pointed the end of his walking stick at Thomas, whispered something, and let the magic do the rest. Thomas felt a strange static wash over him, it wasn't unpleasant, just peculiar. When the magic faded away Thomas stood in a pale blue suit, the light color contrasting wonderfully with his dark hair and eyes. His hands were covered in a pair of silk gloves, the same pale blue as the rest of outfit. On his face, a simple, yet elegant silver mask.

"There, you look perfect," Jorge beamed as if Thomas was his own son. Thomas blushed and thanked the older man as he clambered into the carriage.

"Wait, what about my family? Even with a mask I'm sure at least one of them will recognize me," Thomas said worriedly.

"Not to worry, just another thing that magic can help you with,"

Another wave of the static.

"There, they won't recognize you even if you take the mask off. Oh but thing, you only have until the final stroke of midnight, at which point the magic will wear off and all will return to normal,"

"Midnight? That's more than enough time, thank you so much,"

"You're very welcome hermano, now go and have the time of your life,"

Minho took off, driving the carriage as fast as the horses would allow to the palace. Thomas sat in the back, smiling like an idiot the whole ride there.


	3. Chapter 3

Thomas arrived at the palace late, the ball was already in full swing when he entered the grand hall. All eyes turned to him as he descended the staircase, causing a blush to flourish on his cheeks. Thomas was not used to being the center of attention. The intense scrutiny of all who were present put Thomas on edge which caused him to stumble on the final step, sending him flailing face first towards the pristine marble floor. The cool hardness of the ball room floor never reached Thomas' body, instead he found himself encapsulated in a pair of lean, sturdy arms.

"You certainly know how to make an entrance Tommy," the same angelic voice that been haunting Thomas' dreams drifted into the brunette's ear, once again reminding him of honey, "This is the second time you've fallen into my life, I do hope this trend doesn't continue, I'd much rather you keep your handsome face unmarred. Now would you care to join for a dance?"

Thomas glanced up, even with the metallic, gold mask obscuring half of his rescuers face, Thomas would never forget those gorgeous dark amber orbs. The brilliant red hue that adorned Thomas' face seemed to want make a permanent home there. Opening and closing his mouth multiple times, Thomas finally just nodded, his brain not allowing him the basic function of speech at the present time. Newt beamed, taking Thomas' gloved hand, and lead him to the center of the dance floor.

Newt took the lead, twirling and guiding Thomas in an intricate series of movements. All the guests formed a large circle around the pair, watching, some in awe, others in delicately hidden jealousy. Whispers were passed between onlookers, all wondering who this mystery man was, and how he had so easily captured the prince's heart. Thomas was acutely aware of the whispered voices and the hateful eyes directed his way, but when Newt caught his gaze it all faded away. The blonde spoke soft reassurances in Thomas' ear in an attempt to calm the young man, but the prince just ended up making the brunette a mumbled, jumbled mess of incohesive sputterings.

"Would you care to join me at my table for the banquet?" Newt asked when the music faded into nothing.

"Y- y- Of c- I- I-" Thomas' brain still refused to function in an appropriate manner. Newt laughed, a warm, rumbling that reminded Thomas of the first roll of thunder from a summer storm.

"I shall take that as a yes?"

Thomas nodded, wishing his brain would begin functioning properly, and soon, or else dinner was gong to prove to be an interesting game of charades. The pair shared another dance, this time with other guests participating as well, before it was announced that dinner was ready. Newt offered his arm and lead Thomas into the enormous dining hall.

Thomas, still obliviously unaware of Newt's actual identity, was thrown off when the blonde lead him to the head table. He was even more confused when Newt offered him the seat only one place away from the king's.

"Wh- what?" Thomas finally managed to choke out.

"Yes Tommy?"

"Wh- why are we sitting here?"

"You still haven't figured it out?"

The sea of befuddlement swimming in Thomas' dark, earthy brown eyes told Newt that Thomas had definitely not figured out that Newt was the prince.

"Who do you think I am Tommy?"

"I- I thought you were just the son of one of the noble families, but I'm starting to think I was very, very wrong,"

"You're as wrong as you may think, I am the son of a noble family, well, more specifically, the royal family,"

"So you, you're the prince?" Thomas squeaked.

"Yes. Are you alright Tommy? You look a little pale," Newt observed.

"I- uh… You're the prince," Thomas repeated, his brain now working at a much faster pace than it ever had before while also short circuiting from excessive thinking.

"Yes, I thought we established that already?" Newt asked, not understanding why Thomas was mentally freaking out.

"You're the prince. And you're talking to me. And I'm rambling. Oh god, how did I get into this situation?" Thomas ranted, panic rising.

"Tommy, breathe, breathe, here follow my lead, in, out, in, out. Good, just like that. Better?"

"Maybe? Why me?" Thomas had finally calmed down enough to form coherent questions.

"What do you mean?"

"Why are you talking to me? I can't imagine your father approving of me, and there must be quite a few nobles here who you would have much more in common with. I'm just the step-son of a former nobleman, I have nothing to offer you, what could you possibly find interesting enough about me to ask me to join you for dinner?" Thomas said dejectedly.

"Tommy-" Newt was cutoff when his father sat down on his other side, announcing that the meal was now to be served. The king kept Newt's attention for most of the meal, pointedly ignoring Thomas' presence at the head table. It wasn't until right before dessert was to be served that Newt was able to distract his father enough to sneak away with Thomas.

The blonde prince lead Thomas out to the palace gardens, one of his favorite places to go to think. They walked in silence, side by side, shoulders brushing occasionally, knuckles rubbing against each other every few steps.

"Do you want to know why I asked you to dance with me and join me at the head table, even though I knew my father would never approve?" Newt asked suddenly. Thomas nodded, not wanting pointless words to disrupt the relative peacefulness surrounding them.

"I asked you, over everyone else in attendance tonight, because, you see me as a real person, not just a title. I haven't been able to stop thinking about you ever since you fell into my life a week ago. And then when you showed up tonight, once again falling into my life, I knew I wouldn't be able to love anyone else because you had stolen my heart without even trying,"

"Love? You love me?"

"Yes, I know we've only just met, but I feel like I've known you my whole life. You're all I can think about, I think my steward might strangle me if he has to hear about your 'gorgeous eyes and adorable moles' one more time. Now come on I want to show you one of my favorite places," Newt finished with a grin. He grasped Thomas' hand and lead the brunette to a well disguised, ivy covered door.

On the other side of the thick wooden door was a small, quaint garden with an old, twisted apple tree growing proudly against the far wall. The stone walls were obscured by the dense vines of the ever growing ivy, and there a simple wood swing hanging from one of the branches of the apple tree. Newt walked over to stand beside the swing with an expectant look on his angelic face.

Thomas took a moment to take in the sight before him. Newt looked very out of place in his white and gold royal threads, dark, knee high boots, and golden blonde locks framing his perfect features. It was all such a stark contrast to the dark colors and earthy, unruliness of the garden. The only thing that seemed to fit Newt's look was the light of the full moon. It illuminated the cozy little area and was reflected in Newt's eyes, highlighting a slew of unspoken emotions.

"Are you just going to stand there and gawk at me, or are you going to come over here and allow me the pleasure of pushing on the swing?" Newt asked, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of his strikingly pink and plump lips. Thomas tried his hardest to stutter out an answer through his embarrassment, but gave up, choosing instead to let his actions speak for him.

"Are you always this articulate? Or am I just special?" the prince teased as he shifted to stand behind Thomas so he could gently push the brunette.

"I- I don't talk to many people, s- so I don't r-really what to say. I'm a- afraid of saying the wrong thing and m- making a fool of myself, or worse, saying something th- that might make you h- hate me," Thomas stammered.

"Tommy, there is absolutely nothing you could ever say that would make me hate you," Newt reassured, moving around the swing to stand directly in front of Thomas, "You're far too kind and caring to ever have to worry about saying anything that would make me, or anyone else for that matter, hate you,"

"Try telling that to my family," Thomas sighed forlornly.

"Maybe I will,"

Thomas' head snapped up at the bold statement, he studied Newt's gaze, searching for some hint of a lie, but all he found was deep adoration and just a tiny hint of lust. Newt slowly leaned down, bringing their faces closer together. The prince's hands moved from where they had been resting be his side, to settle over the brunette's steadying the swing, while also steadying himself. Thomas' eyes fluttered shut when he felt Newt's hot breath ghost over his lips. There were mere millimeters separating them when the first chime of midnight rang out across the palace grounds.

"Oh no! I have to go, now! I'm so sorry, I had a really excellent time, thank you so much for tonight!" Thomas yelped. He bolted to his feet, startling Newt in the process. He gave the blonde a deeply apologetic glance before sprinting out of the garden, ripping his hand out of the prince's hold, and also out of his glove. Newt was left, rooted to the ground, staring in bewilderment at where Thomas had been only seconds ago, the blue silk glove clutched tightly in his slender fingers.

Thomas ran. His only thought was to get as far away from the palace as he could before the final stroke of midnight. Thankfully Minho was waiting with the carriage, nervously shaking his leg. Thomas leapt up to join his friend on the driver's seat and took the reins, setting off at an alarmingly fast pace. The third chime rang out as they passed through the palace gates.

"We're not going to make it home before the final stroke," the stable hand mused.

"I know that," Thomas snapped, "We just need to get as far away from the palace as we can,"

The eighth stroke of midnight sounded as they reached the edge of the village. The magic began to fade on the ninth chime. Horses began to turn back to mice, sturdy wheels reverted back into unsteady green vines, and Thomas' suit faded back to the torn grey mess it had been only hours ago.

"Brace yourself," Thomas shouted as the last bit of magic wore off, sending the two men tumbling into the ground.

"You okay?" Minho asked, picking himself up from the dirt path.

"Physically yes, emotionally, I have no idea," Thomas replied, "I'll explain as we walk," he said in response to Minho's concerned look. As they made their way back to Thomas' family estate he recounted the night's events to his companion.

"Well at least you got to keep one of the gloves," Minho said, trying to cheer Thomas up.

"What?" Thomas said, looking down he saw that Minho was indeed correct. There on his left hand was the blue silk glove that had matched his suit from the ball. "Why do I still have this? It should have disappeared with the rest of the magic,"

"I don't know what to tell you, maybe because you didn't have both?"

"I doubt that, magic wouldn't care if they were together or not, so it must be something else,"

They had made it back to the house and were heading towards the stable when the distinct thundering of hooves alerted them of Thomas' step-family returning. Thomas removed the glove and handed it to Minho, "You need to hold onto this for me, if Lord Janson finds out I went to the ball I'll be dead before sunrise," with that he rushed inside to greet his step-family.

"Thomas! Ah there you are, prepare my nightly tea and scotch, it has been an interesting night and I need to calm myself," Lord Janson said, throwing his coat in Thomas' direction.

"Well I don't see how a ball could be anything but interesting," Thomas mused, as he moved towards the kitchen.

"Yes, well unfortunately the night was ruined by some charlatan. He was all over the prince, it was disgusting really. Now get me my tea and scotch and bring it to my room,"

"Yes sir,"

Thomas prepared tea for step-siblings as well as his step-father, taking time to deliver each their own cup.

"So what did you do tonight Thomas?" Lord Janson asked when Thomas brought him his tea.

"Nothing sir, finished my chores and talked with Minho," Thomas answered, doing his best to control his reaction to the question.

"Really now?"

"Yes sir, now if you would excuse me I must get to bed so I can get enough rest as to not fall asleep while cooking breakfast tomorrow,"

"Yes of course, you must had a strenuous night, keeping up appearances and all," Lord Janson as Thomas shut the door behind him. Heart racing, he sprinted up to his room. There was no way his step-father could possibly know that Thomas had gone to the ball. No, Jorge had assured him that his family wouldn't recognize him, plus it had been a masquerade, so maybe they just thought someone else looked like him. Thomas did his best to convince himself that Lord Janson had no idea that Thomas was the one who had captured the prince's attention the whole night. Panic grew as the night wore on.


	4. Chapter 4

The morning after the ball Newt woke with a bright smile on his face, the blue silk glove still resting in his palm, an everlasting reminder that what had happened with Thomas hadn't been a dream. He could almost feel the warmth of the brunette's hand still lingering, in a way that made Newt believe that it was woven into the very fabric of the glove. Remembering that he was supposed to have chosen a spouse last night brought a wave of uneasiness over him, he didn't want to marry some random, unknown person simply because they had noble blood, he wanted to marry the boy he fell in love with that night in the clearing. Jumping out of bed, Newt rushed to get ready, he needed to meet with his father, discuss the night's events and his future marriage. A knock at his door halted his hasty movements.

"Newt, your father wishes to speak with you about last night," Siggy said as he entered the prince's bed chamber.

"I'm sure he does, and I need to speak with him as well. I'm just hoping he'll listen to what I have to say,"

"Is it about Thomas?"

"Yes. I don't care that he's not a noble, he could be some lowly servant for all I care, his status doesn't matter change the way I feel about him Sig. I love him, and I want him to rule beside me,"

"If that's how you really feel, I will do my best to help you convince your father to let you marry Thomas," Siggy said, clapping the prince on the shoulder in a brotherly way. Newt gave his steward an appreciative look before leading the way to the king's personal study. Upon arriving at their destination Newt knocked on the dark wood door and was answered with a muffled "Come in,"

"Father I wish to discuss the matter of declaring a spouse,"

"Good, yes, that is why I asked here, the Duke of Maze showed great interest in you last night, even though you so rudely ignored him, and all the other guests after that boy," he said like it pained the king to even consider Thomas worthy of the word, "showed up,"

"That boy has a name father," Newt retorted.

"I'm sure he does, but that is no concern of mine,"

"It should be, since he is the one I wish to marry,"

"Him? Why him? What could he possibly offer then kingdom?"

"Stability. Something that couldn't be offered if I was to have an arranged marriage. There would be no love in an arranged marriage, the people would see that, they would believe me to be cold and distant. But if I were to marry out of love the people would see me as someone who is kind and caring,"

"He is right, your majesty, while an arranged marriage looks all well and good on paper, the people can sense that the two don't truly care for each other. And if they don't believe that the monarchs care for each other how can they believe that their rulers care for the people? I have seen how Newt looks at the boy and heard how he talks about him, it would be a terrible thing to keep them apart. Newt will never be able to give himself to another, not when a part of him belongs to Thomas," Siggy argued for the case of his prince.

"Is that true Newton?" the king asked, a critical expression on his face.

"Yes father. I love him, I love everything about him," Newt stated.

"Alright, fine, if he makes you that happy you can marry him. You may go tell him,"

"Well there is one problem," Newt began.

"And that would be?"

"I don't actually know where he lives, or what his last name is, or really anything besides his first name and what he looks like," Newt said with a nervous laugh, rubbing the nape of his neck, "But I do have one of his gloves from last night,"

The king shook his head in exasperation, "And how did you expect to find this boy when the only thing you know about him is his first name? Which, for all we know, he could have lied about?"

"He didn't lie about his name," Newt argued.

"And how can you be so sure of that?"

"I just am, he seems far too innocent and sweet to even consider lying about something like that,"

"That doesn't mean that he didn't, but you still haven't answered the question of how you intend to find the boy,"

"Might I suggest that we make an announcement stating that the prince is searching for the young man who captured his heart the night of the ball, not give a specific name, just vaguely indicate about the boy in the blue suit. Plus we can use the glove he left behind to confirm his identity, it looked to be custom made so it is unlikely it would fit any other hand the way it would Thomas'" Siggy offered up as a solution.

"That's brilliant! If we can access a list of all the bachelors who attended the ball we could narrow our search and increase our chances of finding him," Newt exclaimed, clapping his hands together in delight.

"Say I was to agree to this plan of yours, and that's not saying that I am, I would have a few conditions," the king said, fingers pressed together beneath his chin.

"What conditions?" Newt asked.

"You would only have one week, if you have not found the boy by then you will go through with the engagement to the Duke of Maze, understood?"

"Yes father, I believe I can agree to those conditions, please allow me to go find him, please father," Newt pleaded.

"Fine son, but one week, no exceptions,"

"Thank you father! You won't regret this!" Newt beamed, already halfway out the door. His father just waved him off, already regretting his generosity.

Newt raced back to his room to retrieve the glove before rushing off to begin his search for Thomas.

Four days after the ball Thomas woke up to the sound of a door crashing against a wall followed by the grating shriek of his step-sister. A frustrated groan escaped his lips, he knew he wouldn't be able to stay in bed any longer. Lord Janson was already highly suspicious of Thomas as it was, he didn't need to give the man any more reason to keep a closer eye on him. Thomas was pretty sure that his step-father didn't know that Thomas went to the ball, but the way Lord Janson kept subtly hinting at it was keeping Thomas on edge.

With another resigned sigh Thomas dragged himself out of his bed and forced himself to get on with the day. Making his way downstairs, he wasn't sure what to expect, but his entire step-family waiting patiently, with identical sneers was not it. Before he could even process what was happening Lord Janson was in front of him, a familiar blue silk glove clenched in a white knuckled fist.

"Care to explain what this was doing in the stables?" Lord Janson demanded, "It's too small to belong to that worthless stable hand, and it's not Aris'. So that just leaves you. But you know the most interesting thing about this glove?"

Thomas shook his head in the negative, panic coursing through his entire body like wildfire. There was no way his step-father knew he went to the ball, his fairy godfather made sure they wouldn't recognize him, so why did it seem as if Lord Janson knew he was there? Thomas didn't want to think what Lord Janson would do him if the man's suspicions were confirmed, which, with Thomas' luck, they would be.

"You don't? Well that's a shame, because we recently received news that the prince is out searching for the owner of this glove. He wishes to find the young man who, somehow, won his heart, without even being of noble blood! That last part was the most intriguing bit, and it got me thinking about that night. I don't know how you managed it but you were there weren't you? You were the unknown charlatan who ruined the night for everyone weren't you? I don't know how you weaseled your way into the ball, or who you stole that hideous blue suit from, but I intend to find out. But for now you are lucky that I much more pressing matters to deal with. Such as preparing Aris to fool the prince into believing it was him who won the prince's heart,"

Thomas' mind went blank at that statement, shutting down all rational thoughts. He had to get out of there, warn someone, Minho. Dark chocolate eyes shifted wildly from side to side, desperately searching for a way out of his current predicament. His eyes locked onto to his step-brother, watching as the slightly older man started to say something, but all he could hear was the blood pumping in his ears, rushing through his veins at a furious pace. Darkness started to cloud the edges of his vision, breath coming in short, erratic gasps.

"Don't even think about running boy. You aren't going anywhere for a very long time,"

Thomas opened his mouth to give a sarcastic remark but promptly passed out. Lord Janson sneered at the crumpled form of his step-son and turned to face his children. Teresa was perched on the couch while Aris stood near the doorway, both watching, disinterestedly, as their father had confronted Thomas.

"Father, we should get him up to the attic, we don't know when the prince will show up, and if he sees Thomas like this things will not end in our favor," Aris said with a disgusted glance at Thomas. Lord Janson nodded and motioned for Aris to help him carry the brunette up to the attic. The head of the house made sure to lock each door that lead to Thomas' prison. They had just finished locking the final door when a solid and purposeful knock echoed throughout the entry hall.

"Go join your sister in the parlor, and be ready to convince the prince it was you the night of the ball," Lord Janson instructed Aris. The lord then made his way to the door, ready to do whatever he needed to get his son into the palace, not just as a guest. Lord Janson opened the door and was met with the scrutinizing gazes of three men from the palace.

"Good morning sir, I am Siggy, steward to the prince, this is Gally, captain of the guard, and Samuel, a steward in training," Siggy said, introducing his traveling companions, though one of them was not who he claimed to be. Gally, a large, well muscled, stern looking fellow shouldered his way past Lord Janson and into the entry hall. Siggy and Samuel also slipped past the man and into the modest farm house.

"I am sure you have heard that the prince is searching for the young bachelor that stole his heart the night of the ball. I have been informed that three invitations were delivered here, please direct me to the recipients," Siggy said, sizing the rat faced man up.

"Yes, of course, right this way," Lord Janson said, leading the three men into the adjoining parlor, "As you can see I only have two children, and only one of them is male. There are no other persons who would've received an invitation in this home. Aris why don't you step forward and greet the prince's steward, steward in training, and the captain of the guard,"

"Pleased to meet you sirs," Aris said, a sickeningly sweet smile plastered on his slim features.

"Right well, we just need to see if you are the one our prince is looking for, please try this on," Siggy said, handing Aris the other blue silk glove. The brunette smiled again and moved to sit down, offering the guests a cup of tea.

While Siggy and Lord Janson were being distracted by Aris' attempts at being domestic, Samuel took the opportunity to examine the home. There was nothing of any particular interest about the farm house, most of the furniture was outlandishly bright and certainly didn't match the overall design of the house, Peeking out into the entry hall a flash of movement caught his eye, even through the helmet he wore there was no mistaking what he saw. The tall, lanky apprentice nudged the other blonde, tilting his head ever so slightly to the entry hall. Gally must have understood what he meant, because he stepped forward and announced, "Excuse me, I am going to do a quick check of the perimeter, one can never be too careful of what dangers could be lurking, even in one's own home. Samuel, if you will join me please?"

"Of course, wouldn't want any danger to fall on any of you. Teresa, why don't you go with them and show them around?" Lord Janson said, a knowing look aimed at his daughter.

"It would be my pleasure, would you like to see the gardens? They are absolutely beautiful this time of year," Teresa chirped, springing up from the couch. She skipped out of the parlor, leading the two palace workers behind, chattering away about some pointless topic. As the trio came to stand in the entry hall Samuel to a moment to glance around once more, trying to determine where the flash of movement had come from, and more importantly where it went. His eyes scanned the spacious hall, looking for anything that had changed or moved within the few minutes they had been in the parlor. He stopped his searching, eyes locking onto a seemingly inconspicuous door, a door that had been shut tightly when he first entered the house.

Another flash of movement, this one showing a glimpse of dark hair, drew the steward in training over to the door. Something about the movement, and the fact that the door seemed to have been pried open rose suspicion. He glanced back at Gally and Teresa, neither was paying him any notice, which was to his advantage. As silently as he could he slipped past the door, only to be grabbed by a tall, strong, Asian man. The dark haired male held a finger to his lips, indicating for Samuel to remain silent, before gesturing Samuel to follow.

The apprentice steward trailed behind the unknown man, traipsing up the lengthy stairway. About a third of the way up they encountered another door, this one locked tight. This fact did not seem to deter the Asian from wanting to continue onwards. He dropped to his knees, a stolen hair pin easing it's way into the lock. It didn't take long for Samuel's companion to shift the final tumbler into place and carefully swing the door open, leading to more stairs. The two men moved past the door, shutting it behind them, before turning to face each other.

"Aris isn't the one the prince is looking for," the Asian whispered, "Minho, by the way," he continued with an out stretched hand.

"I know," Samuel answered, "And he shall be dealt with accordingly. Now I assume you have reason for wanting to get to the top of this god forsaken tower? And shall also assume you know why the doors all appear to be locked?"

"Yes, but if we wait here, chatting like we're having fucking tea time, it will all be pointless,"

"Alright, lead the way," Samuel replied, motioning Minho forwards.

"You don't talk much do you?" Minho inquired as they climbed higher.

"Only when the situation calls for it,"

"Tomboy is like that too, he normally keeps to himself,"

If the Asian could see the other's expression he would've been met with a thoroughly perplexed look on a profoundly familiar face. Samuel chose not to respond to the slightly older male, instead choosing to focus his attention on the final few flights of stairs that lay between them and one final door. The masked man refused to get his hopes up, this was one of final homes in the kingdom that could hold the prince's beloved and with no luck after three long days of searching, optimism was running thin.

Minho knocked softly on the final door when they reached the last landing. Receiving no answer he moved to try the door knob, not surprised to find it locked. Kneeling down, Minho made short work of the lock. The door creaked open slowly. Minho was the first to step into the surprisingly clean attic. Samuel followed the dark haired man at a slower pace, that was until he caught sight of the third occupant of the room. He was at Thomas' side within seconds, worried hands grasping at their limp counter parts.

"Tommy," Samuel breathed, "Come on Tommy, you need to wake up,"

"Tommy? No one has called him that since his mother passed, he won't let anyone. Just who are you?" Minho said, fearing for the safety of his unconscious friend. The apprentice rose to his feet, turning slowly to face Minho as he did so. He moved to take the helmet off, never breaking eye contact with Minho.

"I am Prince Newton Carbis of Glade,"

"Y-you're the prince? Oh fuck, oh fuck, I think I want to be a fish again," Minho groaned in nervous frustration.

Newt gave the man a puzzled look, but didn't ask for him to elaborate, instead turning his focus back to his beloved. He was trying to decide what the best way to rouse Thomas was, but his pondering was cut short when Thomas started to wake with a a disoriented grumble.

"Tommy! Are you okay? What happened to you? Why were you locked up? Who did this to you?" Newt asked in rapid succession.

"Huh? Am I dead?" Thomas groaned, still not fully cognitive just yet.

"Dead? Why would you be dead Tommy?"

"Because Janson found out I went to the ball, and, aren't you an angel who's here to guide me to where ever?" the befuddled expression on Thomas' face was just too cute and Newt couldn't help but pull the young man into a tight hug.

"Thomas, man, what happened? I came in this morning and the stable was torn apart," Minho stated from where he stood behind Newt.

"Janson found the glove," Thomas said.

"Shit, I'm sorry I thought it would be safe in the stables, this is all my fault," Minho apologized.

"It's not your fault, you didn't know he would go search for it,"

"Still, is that why you were unconscious? Did rat-man do that to you?"

"No, no I don't think so, I'm pretty sure I just passed out from anxiety. Wait, how did you get here? Why is Minho with you? What's going on? Why are you here?" Thomas asked, panicking again and working himself into a frenzied state.

"Tommy, calm down. It's okay, you're okay. I'm here because I was looking for you, Minho was the one who got me up here," the prince whispered in the shorter man's ear, rubbing small circles on his back.

The thunderous pounding of boots rushing up stairs forced the three men back to reality. Newt moved to stand in front of the brunette who had curled into himself, shrinking away from the door. Minho stepped up next to the prince, ready to protect his friend from Lord Janson.


	5. Chapter 5

"Boy! What is going on up here?" Lord Janson demanded, barging into the drafty, unfinished attic, Siggy, Gally, Aris, and Teresa all following close behind, "You!" the lowly lord pointed an accusing finger at Minho, "You're trying to help him escape aren't you? And you," he then turned to Newt, "You come into my house and then help this piece of trash? You think just because you're a palace worker you can do as you please? Just who do you think you are?"

Newt chuckled darkly at the man's furious outburst, Lord Janson obviously didn't recognize Newt, and Newt was going to enjoy messing with him because of that.

"Me? I'm just a simple apprentice, still learning my trade," Newt answered coyly.

"An apprentice? Well you won't be for much longer," Lord Janson snarled, taking a menacing step forwards, till there was little space between him and the blonde. Newt saw Siggy and Gally shift to protect their prince but he stopped them, not ready to give up his identity to this man just yet.

"I'm not sure if my father, who I am apprenticing under, would be too happy to find out you threatened me,"

"I don't care who your father is. You have broken into my house and are assisting this trash help this filth escape, I will have justice," the rat faced man barked, forgetting he had invited Newt into his home.

"Broken in? I was under the impression you had invited me in when you let Siggy and Gally in, or have I been mistaken? And filth? Trash? Is that how you treat all your staff?"

"How I treat my staff is none of your business,"

"Oh but it is. The wellbeing of the citizens of the kingdom is precisely what my business is, or it will be once I take over for my father," Newt smirked.

"You insolent little brat! How dare you speak to me like that! Who do you think you are?"

"I told you, I'm an apprentice,"

"What is your name boy? That way I can properly seek justice,"

"Ah, now you're asking the right questions. I am Newton Carbis, crown prince of the kingdom of Glade,"

"C- crown prince?" Teresa stuttered, dropping to the floor in respect.

"Y- your majesty, m- my apologies, I didn't realize-" Lord Janson started to grovel.

"That is no excuse for your horrid behavior. Now you will tell me why this young man was locked up here, and explain why you have lied to me about the number of people who received an invitation," Newt commanded, using his most authoritative tone.

"He is nothing more than a useless man servant your grace. He was locked away in punishment for stealing from my son," Lord Janson told the prince.

"You know, I could have your head for lying to me? So why don't you try that again?" Newt said, gracefully sitting down on Thomas' bed and resting a gentle hand on the frightened brunette.

"L- lying? I have no idea what you could mean by that?"

"Don't lie to me, you won't like my retaliation," Newt snapped.

"Y- yes your majesty," the older man gasped out, the distinct coolness of a blade on his throat forcing him into submission.

"So are you going to tell me the real reason you had this poor man locked up, while he was unconscious?"

"He disobeyed me, he needed to be punished for that,"

"And just how did he disobey you? What relation is he to you?"

"He was forbidden from going out, I discovered proof of his misdeeds and confronted him, he passed out from his own guilt,"

"Hmmm, say I believe you, you still didn't answer my question,"

"He is nothing more than a man servant,"

"Really now? I have never met any servant so well educated. Nor have I ever met anyone so afraid of their family that they would give up their own freedom just because they are too kind to stand up for themselves. Care to explain why that is?"

"F- family?"

"Father just tell him the truth, he already knows enough so just tell him what he wants to know," Aris said, annoyed that his father was so determined to ruin Thomas' life, even when his own life was on the line.

"I do have ways of getting the answers I want, but I'd much rather you just tell me, it would be much less messy," Newt mused, running slender through Thomas' untamed hair.

That seemed to be the final straw for the outraged lord, he jerked to lunge at the prince, but Gally was faster. The sword that been idly held at Lord Janson's neck was now held firmly in the guard's hands, blood dripping down the once pristine steel.

"F- father!" Teresa exclaimed, shooting over to her father's decapitated body.

"I am sorry for that, but the prince's safety comes first," Siggy consoled the distraught girl as best he could.

"I'm not sorry, the guy was fucking slinthead," Gally retorted, wiping his blade with a disgusted grimace.

"Gally, please try to at least pretend you have a heart," Newt reprimanded. Gally rolled his eyes but didn't say anything more. The room fell into an uncomfortable silence, only broken by Teresa's inconsistent sobs and labored breathing.

"My lord?" Siggy said, stepping forward with the glove in hand.

"Right, not that I doubt your identity, but for peace of mind for my steward and guard," Newt stated, handing the glove to Thomas to try on. The brunette took the glove, hesitant to put it on in front of his angered step-siblings. A reassuring smile from the prince did little to calm the storm of nerves that raged inside Thomas, but, with a shaky breath, he pulled the blue fabric over his trembling fingers. The silk felt cool and comforting against his clammy skin, the fabric seemed to meld itself into each and every crevasse and over every knuckle, molding to Thomas' hand like a second skin.

"Well I think that extinguishes any doubt. You, Thomas, are the man who stole my heart. Would you give me the pleasure of becoming my husband?" Newt declared, dropping down in front of Thomas, a simple, silver engagement band resting in his out stretched palm.

"You little shit! Don't even think about saying yes! You're nothing more than a pathetic man servant our father took pity on when he married your worthless mother!" Aris screeched.

"Aris, go fuck off. I'm done taking your crap. I'm not a servant you can just order around, I never was! I let you into my house because my mother asked me to. I have been nothing but kind to you and your sister while you treated me like shit! So excuse me if I don't feel like listening to your trivial demands anymore!" Thomas shouted, rage boiling deep in his veins. This was his first chance at true happiness in a long while and he wasn't going to let his spoiled ass of a step-brother ruin it for him. Then remembering the other occupants of the room, Thomas flushed a startling bright shade of red.

"Well, that was unexpected," Siggy chuckled.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to shout, I'm just so sick of them controlling my life," Thomas whispered only loud enough for Newt to hear him.

"It's quite alright Tommy, now what do you say? Will you marry me?" Newt asked once more.

"Yes," Thomas replied, a shy grin tugging at the corners of his lips. Newt returned the grin ten-fold, before pulling his, now, fiancé into a gentle yet passionate kiss.

"Great, you found your man, can we get back to the palace now?" Gally quipped, tired of traipsing around the kingdom in search of the object of the prince's desire. The prince nodded and stood, offering a hand to Thomas. The brunette looked hesitant to take it, glancing over at Minho, not sure what was to become of his friend now that Lord Janson was dead.

"Tommy?"

"It's just, I can't leave Minho here. He's always been there for me, and I can't just leave him, especially now, after all this,"

"Would you want him to come with us?"

"Newt I'm not-" Siggy began but was cut off by Newt's stern gaze.

"You will need a steward of your own. If Minho is up for the job that is," Newt mused.

"I would gladly be Thomas' steward any day. What is a steward exactly?" Minho piped in.

"Siggy will train you. Now if we are all in agreement to these arrangements, my father is waiting for us," Newt said.

"What about us?" Teresa exclaimed as the group moved to the exit.

"What about you?" Gally asked, an eyebrow arched just so.

"You killed our father, you can't just leave us here,"

"Actually we can, and we are going to just that," Newt said, a finality in voice that was not to be argued with.

Thomas and Minho were brought to the palace, introduced to the king, and just three days later celebrating the wedding. At the feast that night Thomas could feel Newt's heated, lust filled eyes on him. They had spent the last few days preparing the wedding and getting to know one another more. Now they were married, and Thomas couldn't be happier.

"Prince Charming over there looks like he could jump you at any time," Minho whispered into Thomas' ear, watching as the pair went around greeted other nobility. Thomas followed his friend's gaze, confirming what he was just told. "Go on, it's your wedding night, everyone will understand if the two of you disappear,"

"You're quite right Minho, I shall be taking my husband now, please see to it that we are not disturbed for the rest of the night," Newt purred, suddenly appearing at Thomas' side. The blonde practically dragged his husband out of the ballroom and up to their suite, stopping every few feet to worship the other's lips.

It took the pair nearly three times as long to reach their suite, clothes scattered behind them like a crumb trail. When they made it to the bed chambers both men were down to only their undergarments. Newt had Thomas pinned to the door, his kiss bruised lips drawing out the most delectable moans from the brunette. Thomas had his one hand tangled in the golden locks of his husband, the other holding tightly onto Newt's forearm while he rutted against the taller male.

"N- Newt!" Thomas keened as his husband latched onto an overly sensitive spot on his neck, "B-bed,"

The blonde gave no acknowledgement that he heard what Thomas said as he continued to kiss, lick, and bite a path down the brunette's torso. He reached down, grabbing Thomas' thighs and wrapping them around his waist, causing even more glorious friction to electrify their senses. Thomas relocated his arms to wrap around his husband's neck. Newt returned his lips to Thomas' as he carried the smaller man over to their bed, carefully setting the other down before climbing on top of the brunette.

"My Tommy," Newt whispered, lovingly staring down at his beautiful husband, causing the other to flush in embarrassment, "You're so perfect, and I'm going to worship every inch of your body,"

Thomas released a desperate whine as Newt skimmed his fingers over the top of his last piece of clothing. It didn't take the blonde long to remove the final layers separating them from seeing each other in their full glory. Newt smirked at Thomas' appreciative ogling. Thomas reached up, pulling his husband down into a heated kiss, tongues and teeth clashing furiously as they pressed their groins together, unhindered by clothes, gasping into the kiss. Neither man was too interested in much foreplay, just needing to become one with the other, so when Newt reached out for a small jar of oil from the nightstand.

"You're so beautiful my love," the taller man cooed as he coated three fingers in the oil. Newt let his slender digits drift down to teasing circle around Thomas' tight, virgin pucker.

"Newt! Please!" Thomas rasped, trying to push back onto the fingers that teased him so.

"Please what Tommy?"

"Please! I want your fingers in me!" the brunette cried, begging his husband to stop his teasing and just start fucking him already.

"So needy," Newt said as he slid the first finger into the tight warmth, waiting a moment for Thomas to get used to the feeling of something inside him. Slowly the finger began to slide in and out, curling and prodding with each thrust. Thomas was a writhing, whining mess by the time Newt added the third finger. The blonde scissored his fingers, reaching deep inside his lover, rubbing against the delicate bundle of nerves that made Thomas see not just stars but the whole galaxy. Newt smiled against Thomas' chest as a needy mewl passed through his lips when the blonde removed his fingers. The hands in Newt's hair tightened and the shorter man's hips pressed back searching for anything to fill him once more.

Newt didn't waste any more time slicking himself up, he was fairly certain Thomas would go deal his problem on his own if Newt teased any longer. Lining himself up with Thomas' hopefully thoroughly stretched hole, Newt gave the brunette a sweet kiss as he pushed past the tight ring of muscle. The taut, velvety heat that was encasing him was driving the blonde mad with desire, but he kept his pace slow, not wanting to harm his lover. When he was fully situated inside Thomas, Newt ceased all movement, knowing that while he had prepared Thomas as best he could, he was bigger than his three fingers.

Thomas clenched his eyes shut as pain shot across his body, tears threatening to spill down his cheeks. He knew it would get better, he just hoped it would happen soon. His hopes were answered when Newt planted small butterfly kisses across his cheeks and jawline, hands rubbing soothing circles on his trembling thighs. The pain lessened and Thomas tested his resilience with a small roll of his hips, earning a deep, rumbling moan from Newt.

The hold on Thomas' thighs shifted from a gentle, calming presence to a firm, possessive grip as Newt pulled out till just the tip of his aching cock remained in Thomas. Pressing forward with more force, but not as hard as he could have, Newt began a steady rhythm, rocking in and out of the man laid out below him. Thomas had forgotten the pain he once felt as soon as Newt angled his thrusts to strike his prostate with each thrust.

"H- harder," the brunette managed to gasp out in his throws of passion. The blonde was more than happy to comply with the request, lifting Thomas' hips up to give himself more leverage to strengthen his movements. The room was filled with the echoes of intermixing moans, whines, and the distinct sound of flesh on flesh. Newt reached down between their sweat slicked bodies, taking Thomas' weeping, neglected cock in his hand and stroked in time with his thrust, or as best he could as he became more frantic and sporadic as he felt his climax approaching.

The feeling of Newt's hand wrapped his length while each thrust hit his prostate dead on was too much for Thomas and with a cry of pleasure, Newt's name echoing on the stone walls, Thomas came, spurting his seed over both their chests. Newt came only seconds later, the tight clenching of Thomas inner walls around his throbbing cock sending him over the edge.

"That was..." Thomas breathed out minutes later when he could finally think straight again.

"Yeah..." Newt agreed, pulling his now limp dick out of his husband. Thomas shifted to rest his head on Newt's shoulder, snuggling up to his lover. Neither moved to clean themselves, too exhausted to move very far. Soon both men were fast asleep, curled around the other, and they would wake up like that every morning following that night.


End file.
